But now, that need was stronger.
As was the desire to provoke a reaction from him. He exhibited a coolness when they were alone, a forced reserve, as if he were unaffected by her nearness.
She knew better.
When he’d kissed her, he’d wanted her to respond to his touch. She’d seen that truth in his eyes before his lips had claimed hers.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. An intriguing thought, but an oh-so-foolish one.
Perhaps she’d even the score.
The notion was misguided. Slightly dangerous.
But far too tempting to dismiss out of hand.
She’d tread lightly. She’d test the waters.
After all, it wasn’t as if he were a dangerous man. He’d go no further than she wished. In her heart, she trusted that much about him.
She set the book aside and stretched out the legs she’d tucked under her. Her bare toes sank into the plush pile of the rug beneath her feet.
“A question occurs to me, dear husband.”
She thought she heard him sigh, but she couldn’t be sure. He folded his arms over his chest. “Why do I feel like I should brace myself?”
Instinct, most likely. Of course, she didn’t dare voice the thought.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she teased. “I thought Raibert was the thespian among us.”
“Believe me, Grace, I do not have a theatrical bone in my body.” His mouth flattened to a humorless line, even as his expression grew more intrigued. “I can see it in your eyes. What kind of scheme are you concocting now?”
“You don’t trust me. I’m wounded.” She feigned a pout.
He hiked a brow. “Should I?”
“Now that, my darling, is a matter for debate.” She stood, allowing her heavy cotton gown to ripple down to her toes. “Do you recall our dilemma last night?”
The other brow shot up. “Dilemma?”
“If we are to convince the staff of our ruse, shouldn’t a new bride appear freshly…shall we say…ravished first thing in the morning?”
That muscle in his jaw clenched. Raking a hand through his hair, he met her eyes. “Grace, what are you up to?”
She padded to the bed. If his brows went any higher, they’d have touched his hairline.
“The maid will be in shortly, and I can only imagine the gossip.” She knelt lightly on the mattress, barely rustling the covers.
He’d set his jaw, showing little reaction. But the wicked gleam in his eyes betrayed he was far from immune to her nearness. “I’ll ask you again… What in blazes are you up to?”
She could not hold back her smile. There was something about him…something about the way he tried to pretend he was a stoic, straitlaced gentleman, that appealed to her. Oh, she knew better.
And she’d remind him of that very fact.
“Just remember…this is for the sake of our mission.”
A sudden wave of shyness rushed over her. Swallowing hard, she met his gaze.
Anticipation gleamed in their mossy-green depths.
And something more—something she couldn’t define and wasn’t sure she even wanted to.
She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was gentle. A mere brush of her lips against his. Not quite chaste.
With a strangled sound low in his throat, he drew her closer. His arms curved around her, caging her gently against him. The heat of his hands permeated the fabric covering her body, and she relaxed, luxuriating in his embrace.
Her fingers swept over the bare skin of his back, drinking in the warmth and texture of his skin, the feel of powerful muscles beneath her touch. The hunger she’d been able to control escaped its reins, and she heard herself moan against his mouth.
Goodness, I’ve gone and done it now.
He deepened the kiss, intensified the contact. His tongue darted between her parted lips, stirring her desire.
Another low sound, almost a little growl, escaped him. His breath brushed her lips as he eased away.
His expression was gentle as he regarded her for the span of several heartbeats. She swallowed hard, struggling to express the jumble of thoughts converging in her mind.
She reached out to him, cupping his cheek against her hand. The rough stubble of new beard grazed her palm. Her heart tripped. Had it actually skipped a beat?
“One must make sacrifices…for the sake of duty.” She’d meant the words to sound light, perhaps even flippant. But somehow, they carried the weight of truth.
“Indeed.” His thumb traced over her lower lip. “You’re a lady, Grace. Don’t think I will forget that.”
A lady. The words echoed in her thoughts. How very perplexing. She’d never used her body to pry anything out of a man—not money, not information. Not even affection. She’d been a virgin when she and Harrison had shared that one delicious night—and since that time, she’d only touched a man in the most proper of ways on the dance floor of a fancy ballroom or perhaps, to lift a few bob out of his pocket.
But she’d never thought of herself as a lady. After all, a lady didn’t steal. Or connive her way into some trusting dupe’s graces. No matter her reasons, a true lady wouldn’t stoop so low.
In spite of this—in spite of knowing full well what she’d done to support herself—Harrison did think her a lady.
She didn’t quite know what to make of it.
My, the man is confounding.
So she looked at him and voiced what was in her heart. “Thank you.” Leaning closer, she held his gaze as she moistened her slightly swollen lips with the tip of her tongue. “I suppose I look convincing enough now.”
“I’d say so.” He reached for her, easing her closer. Her breasts pressed to his hard-muscled chest. “But perhaps…for good measure…”
With that, he kissed her again, a light, sweet caress that set her toes to curling.
His lips parted from hers, and he regarded her without speaking. The pendulum on the clock swished, its steady beat breaking the silence.
She brushed a rogue lock of hair from his forehead. “Well, then,” she murmured. “I certainly think that should do it.”
His expression bore no trace of humor. “I’d say so. Every man in this hotel will envy me when he sees you.”
“You think so?”
“I’ve no doubt.” A tempting half grin curved his full mouth. “The thing of it is, I’m not bloody sure which one of us has made the sacrifice.”
Chapter Eighteen
Raibert Castle, The Scottish Highlands
Two Days Later
When she’d been a girl, Grace had dreamed childish dreams of princesses and princes and castles. Of course, even while very young, she’d never expected any of those dreams to come true.
But now, perched on a balcony overlooking the grand hall and ballroom of Raibert Castle, Grace wondered if perhaps, she’d been wrong. Beneath her, in a cavernous chamber that magnified every note of the musicians’ serenade, lovely young women garbed in finery that would have made a princess a wee bit jealous glided over the floor with their elegantly clad beaus, swaying in perfect time to the music. She’d attended many balls in grand hotels and mansions, everywhere from Richmond to Buffalo to Edinburgh. But something about this setting was truly enchanting. Everything about this night charmed her beyond all reason.
Raibert Castle was a grand old structure. Though many of the main living spaces, particularly the smaller rooms occupied by Miss Fairchild’s guests, were in need of repair to some degree or other, the ballroom had been restored to its former glory. Rich tapestries adorned the gray stone walls, while the polished wood floor gleamed with wax and the efforts of the castle’s household staff.
Of course, the charm of the place might have had something to do with Grace’s escort. As much as she dreaded admitting the truth, even to herself, Harrison cut a dashing figure. He was a handsome man—goodness knows, he was appealing fresh out of bed in the morning with his hair mussed and his clothing rumpled
. She doubted anything up to and including being doused with mud from a passing carriage could change that. But tonight—ah, tonight he might well have been a man straight out of her girlish dreams.
Tall—of course, that was nothing new. He stood a full head above her, and she’d never been considered petite.
Broad shouldered. Again, that was not a change. Unlike some men who depended on a bit of padding and the fine cut of a well-tailored jacket to emphasize the breadth of their shoulders, Harrison required no assistance in that department. Whether wearing a jacket or bare chested—her throat went a little dry at the thought—his shoulders were masculine, sleekly muscled, and powerful. Tonight, he’d selected a jacket in elegant black wool for the occasion. The cut of the coat clung deliciously to the span from shoulder to shoulder. The memory of her fingers curving around that perfect meld of flesh and bone washed over her, and she felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks.
Handsome. With his burnished wheat hair, classically carved features, strong nose and chin, and those eyes, as green and inviting as a forest, he stood out in a crowd of attractive men.
But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, he’d worn a kilt.
Be still my treacherous heart.
He’d worn the MacMasters tartan, the hues of red and green and black posing a striking contrast against the ebony of his jacket and snowy white of his shirt. His long, muscular legs bore the tawny hue of hours beneath the sun. Evidently, he preferred the plaid when he was not conducting business, rushing about Scotland and England as an operative in the service of the Crown. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned him roaming the Highland countryside of his ancestral home, tossing cabers about as if they were twigs among other manly pursuits. She stifled a giggle. Good gracious, at this rate, the Harrison in her mind would be saving fair maidens from Scottish dragons—fire-breathing ones, no less.
What had come over her? It wasn’t as if she were this fanciful every day. She couldn’t even blame it on being foxed. She had not imbibed so much as a drop of alcohol, not even a sip of champagne.
Didn’t she know better than to think of him as a hero, as a man she could love? Nothing good could come of it. If anything, she put more of herself—and her heart—at risk every time she allowed herself to think about him.
It would be far better for her if she detested him. Even a mild dislike would work to her benefit. But even when he tried to scowl at her or when he adopted that all-business, stiff-upper-lipped way of his, she couldn’t help but look at him and wonder if he still wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him.
He was a good man.
Drat the luck.
She could resist a scoundrel.
Of course, there wasn’t really anything to resist. Since that night in Edinburgh when he’d defended her from that horrid man, O’Hanlon, he’d conducted himself with the utmost propriety. He had not touched her in any manner that was not utterly genteel. Even lying in the same bed, the heat of his body warming hers, he’d conducted himself with restraint. Too much restraint. He hadn’t even attempted to steal a kiss, except upon her prompting. Not that he would’ve had to try so very hard. She was weak. And, she suspected, too willing to taste his lips for her own good.
No, Harrison MacMasters was a gentleman, through and through.
Drat, drat, drat the luck!
Not that she’d made it easy for him. Something about Harrison MacMasters cried out to be loosened up, to cast aside the constraints of duty and savor a taste of levity, a sip of humor. Heaven only knew she’d seized every opportunity to tease him about their false marriage. Husband, she’d call him from time to time, if only to see that muscle in his jaw tighten at the sheer absurdity of the thought. If either of them could be deemed a scoundrel, it was her.
Is that even possible? She pondered the question, smiling to herself as she pictured the expression on his face each time she teased him.
He wasn’t immune to her. She didn’t even want to think about why the thought pleased her so. But it did. She couldn’t help but notice the way he’d squirmed beneath the covers that morning while she sat bundled in her to-the-neck cotton gown. Perhaps if they did not share such a powerful memory, he could pretend his aloofness came naturally and wasn’t the product of a concerted effort. Pity she saw through him.
“I shudder to think what kind of scheme you’re concocting now.” He came up quietly behind her, resting large, gentle hands on her shoulders. His voice was low and pleasantly deep, his breath warm against her ear. A ribbon of awareness unfurled along the length of her spine.
“Whatever would give you that idea?” she said, keeping her back to him. Not that she was keeping a distance between them. Quite the opposite. The feel of his hands against her clothed skin was delicious, and she didn’t want to give him an excuse to pull away.
“You’re being quiet.” Lightly, he turned her to face him. A smile danced on his mouth. “That’s always dangerous.”
“Is it now? I suppose you will have to guard yourself against a wicked woman like me.”
“Especially when you look like you do tonight.” His husky words were infused with a quality she couldn’t quite define.
“The gown is exquisite.” Her hands lowered to the fabric, and she smoothed the emerald silk with the palms of her hands. “Mrs. Carmichael was wonderful about procuring it.”
He drew back a step, then another. He met her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about the dress.”
“Oh,” she said, nearly under her breath. “My.”
“Unfortunately, that gown and the woman who is wearing it need to be seen by someone other than me.” He extended a crooked arm. “May I escort you to the ballroom?”
“Of course,” she said, accompanying him as they descended the stairs. Belle spotted her from across the ballroom.
The heiress maneuvered through the crush to join Grace and Harrison, her silk brocade gown swishing with each step. The aquamarine gown with its perfectly fitted bodice and flowing skirt was adorned with embroidered lilies sewn in a striking silvery thread. Her honey-blond hair was swept into an elegant coiffure, topped with a tasteful jeweled headpiece. A joyful smile brightened her sapphire-blue eyes as she reached out to clasp Grace’s hand, as she tended to do.
“I was starting to wonder if you’d come,” Belle said, then nodded toward Harrison. “Dr. MacMasters, it’s good to see you.”
As they exchanged pleasantries with the heiress, Raibert approached. A powerful figure of a man, he stood by her side, a clear possessiveness in his eyes. The hard gleam in his stare as he shifted his attention to Harrison set off an internal alarm. She had no reason to distrust the man, other than the suspicions Harrison and Mr. Jones had communicated. But even without that knowledge, she would’ve been uneasy around Raibert. He was handsome, charming, and yet, something in his expression propelled a wave of apprehension through her.
Raibert donned a smile that seemed a mask. “It’s good that Belle has another American here with her. I do believe she’s homesick.”
“Perhaps a touch,” Belle said.
“Will you return to America at some point after your marriage?” Harrison inquired.
Belle’s smile dimmed. “I’ve no plans to do so.”
“I may be able to change your mind,” Grace said. “Dr. MacMasters and I intend to visit my family home often. I’m quite attached to that rambling old house.”
“The one in North Carolina?” Belle questioned.
“Not that one—my father’s cottage on the sound is a wonderful place, but I’ve never considered it home. That would be in Pennsylvania, not far from the New York border.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Belle said. “I recall that now. Perhaps I will persuade my future husband to travel there with me in the not-too-distant future.”
“I do believe I could be convinced. Perhaps I will bring my portrayal of Hamlet back to the New York stage.”
“What a delight that would be,” Grace said as Harrison
’s expression settled into what looked like a mild case of dyspepsia. She softly nudged him with an elbow.
“There is a part of me that longs to tread the boards again,” Raibert went on. “But for now, restoring my family estate is my passion. For too many years, this historic place was allowed to go to rot.”
“This castle is magnificent,” Grace said.
“The restoration has only just begun. Fortunately, my dear Belle shares my drive to bring the entire property back to its former grandeur.”
“It’s rugged and beautiful,” Belle gushed, even as the sour expression returned to Harrison’s face. My, he wasn’t much of an actor, was he?
Raibert’s attention settled on Grace. A shiver traced its way along her spine, but she dismissed it. She’d nothing to fear from this man—not here, at least, with Harrison so near.
The actor’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to drop the pleasant mask. “Have we had occasion to meet…in the past?”
Cotton filled her throat, but she managed a reply. “I don’t believe so. I certainly would have recalled making the acquaintance of a thespian of your stature.”
“You’re quite sure of that?” he pressed.
“Positive,” she said, swallowing against the sudden dryness in her mouth.
“You seem very familiar. I’ve seen you…somewhere…”
Oh, dear. This wasn’t good. She’d no idea where he might have spotted her, but any connection he made to her activities in America might well arouse his suspicion.
She plastered on a deliberately bland expression. “Perhaps you spotted me in the audience during one of your performances. At times, I can be a bit overenthusiastic in my applause.” Donning a quick, false smile, she went on. “My dear aunt often chaperoned me on my outings to the theater. She likened my applause to…ah, what was it…a seal clapping in a circus.”
Raibert’s brows shot up as Harrison smothered a cough against his fist and Belle giggled.
“A seal,” Raibert repeated. “Mrs. MacMasters, I cannot imagine any circumstance when one might have confused you with such a creature.”
Tempting the Highland Spy Page 16
